


(all of my friends say) i should move on

by heartshapedcandy



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, lowkey Kara/Lena because I can't resist Katie Mcgrath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 05:45:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8653147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartshapedcandy/pseuds/heartshapedcandy
Summary: Post 2x07
The one where Alex and Maggie can't stay away from each other
or
Alex and Maggie suck at being just friends and Kara is less helpful than she thinks





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just something to tide me over until Monday....

Alex tries not to watch too hard as Maggie leans across the pool table, lining up the cue stick carefully, tongue caught between her teeth in a bid for concentration. For a brief guilt-stricken moment, Alex’s eyes fall to the curve of Maggie’s ass as she bends over the table, tight fitting black jeans hugging close to the sinful taper of Maggie’s thighs.

 

Alex wrenches her eyes away, ears burning red, pulling her gaze up somewhere more innocent. She lands on Maggie’s fingers, curling careful around the butt of the cue stick, the sight of close cut nails and long fingers sparking something low in Alex’s stomach.

 

Maggie chooses now to look up, still leaning, lithe and close, over the table. She considers Alex, mouth caught in that sloppy half-grin.

 

“You alright there, Danvers?” she asks, grin widening as she shifts her weight lower over the table.

 

Alex wants to hate her for this.  For that cocky, dimpled smile and the careless leather jacket shrugged on over a worn grey henley, one too many buttons popped down the collar.

 

Alex wants to hate her for the way that she makes her like her—too much—red-hot and igniting. Coils of attraction and lust spiraling tight in her stomach, stretching her to a throbbing ache in the way requisite prom dates and obligatory boyfriends never could.

 

Alex _wants_ to hate her but she can’t quite manage it, not even with the cold-burn of last week’s rejection still surging under her skin. She rolls her eyes to the ceiling, feigning carelessness and hoping Maggie knows enough to play along.

 

“Just take the shot, Sawyer.”

 

Maggie complies, burying the red ball neatly in the back left pocket of the table. She turns to Alex, smirking now, tossing dark hair over one shoulder as she stands. She quirks an eyebrow at Alex, raising her arms in a half shrug.

 

“Who has game now?” Maggie says, laughing at the annoyance on Alex’s face.

 

Alex takes a long swig of her beer, hiding her smile in the mouth of the bottle. She’s glad they have some of their old banter back. Even slightly forced, she decides, friend Maggie is better than no Maggie at all.  She lowers her beer, balancing it on the lip of the table and leaning in close, feeling a thrill of satisfaction as Maggie’s smirk falters.

 

“Pretty good, Sawyer. Let’s see if you can do it again.”

 

**

 

Alex is four drinks in now, faintly buzzed and a tipsy kind of careless. Maggie is chalking the tip of her cue stick, brushing blue powder from her fingertips. She looks up at Alex after appraising the end of her stick, taking in the red flush at the high arch of Alex’s cheeks, the lazy gloss of her eyes. Maggie takes a slight step forward, one hand reaching out to brush at the cuff of Alex’s jacket.

 

“You okay there, cowgirl?” she asks, willing herself not to bring a hand up to cup at Alex’s cheek and find out if her skin is as soft as it looks. “You’re looking dangerously close to publicly intoxicated.” She tugs at her belt in the way that she knows always makes Alex blush, fingering her badge, “I don’t know if you’ve heard but I’m a cop, it’s my duty to keep the drunk and disorderly behind bars.”

 

It’s dangerously close to flirting.  If they’re being honest it certainly hinges closer to a seduction than just innocent banter. But what’s wrong with a little flirting between two completely platonic women with a solid foundation for a nice heterosexual friendship?

 

Alex does flush a deeper red as expected but, completely unexpected, instead of backing down, she takes a slightly unsteady step forward. Maggie falters, freezing up as Alex’s shuffle step leaves them almost chest to chest, a haughty tilt of Alex’s chin giving her nearly a full head of height over her. Maggie thinks that in any other situation someone towering above her would be unacceptable, cause for re-evaluation and possibly a swift punch to the throat. But when it’s Alex, tall and lean and sharp-jawed, Maggie feels helpless to do anything but let it happen.

 

“You want to keep playing?” Maggie says, tilting her head slightly to the side, breath catching in her throat as Alex regards her, cat-eyes narrowed, something reckless in the way she leans ever-close. Alex reaches out a hand and, for a moment suspended, Maggie thinks she is going to kiss her again, catch her up in her arms and tug her close. Maggie can almost feel the ghost of their last kiss, the phantom press of it, warm and soft, against her lips.

 

But Alex is just reaching around her, snaking one arm past the curve of Maggie’s waist to snag the half-full beer that rests, precarious, on the lacquered wood bordering the pool table. She raises the bottle to her lips, taking a long pull before retreating a half-step, dropping the beer on the corner of a tall bar table behind them. She shrugs then, tossing her hair out of her eyes with a perfunctory jerk of her head.

 

“Only if you think you can keep up,” she says, “it’s not as fun when you keep losing.”

 

“Hey,” Maggie says, playing along, raising her hands in faux-surrender, “you’re only beating me by one game.”

 

“For now,” Alex says, she smirks, confident and just-past drunk, and Maggie thinks maybe she liked it better when Alex was dopey and nervous, her crush only half-realized. Before she became capable of pushing Maggie back.

 

This game is starting to feel dangerous. Alex is stepping closer again, smirk still in place, and Maggie doesn’t know how much longer she can keep saying no.

 

Alex reaches forward and this time it _is_ for Maggie, hands landing lightly on her waist, fingers resting just above the sharp jut of her hipbones. Maggie catches her tongue between her teeth, all her protests and excuses and reasoning stuck in her throat. Alex dips forward, ducking her head to meet Maggie’s eyes.  Maggie’s eyelashes flutter against her cheeks, body liquid underneath the subtle persuasion of Alex’s fingertips.

 

She knows all the reasons they can’t do this, she knows and knows and knows.  Down to the very aching core of her Maggie is sure that this will end in heartbreak.  She knows the story so well; the way it looks when someone begins to pull away, the sound of the final words and final goodbyes and the finality of that last closing door.

 

Maggie knows this will break them, but she is closing her eyes and tilting her head toward the throbbing dawn of Alex’s affections, ready to be taken and ruined anyway.

 

But Alex doesn’t kiss her.  She tugs at Maggie’s hips instead, spinning her body around until she faces the pool table, moving in close to settle behind her. Alex presses in tighter, hips set against Maggie’s ass, arms circling her waist. She leans down, mouth at Maggie’s ear.

 

“Let me show you how you really play pool.”

 

And just like that, the spell is shattered. Maggie jolts away, freeing herself from Alex’s grip, slipping out from in front of her.

 

“Uh,” Maggie starts, voice verging dangerously close to shaky, “What was that, Alex?”

 

Alex’s brow furrows, a hand coming up to gesture at Maggie’s pool stick, still held loosely in her right hand.

 

“I was gonna show you how to properly hold your stick,” she wiggles her fingers, “you hold it all wonky.”

 

Maggie ignores the disappointment that settles heavy in her chest, leaning the cue stick against the table and burying her hands in her pockets.

 

“You’re drunk, Alex.” She shakes her head, “Let’s get you home.”

 

Alex seems to sober at Maggie’s expression and nods slowly, burying any guilt behind the hard set of her mouth.

 

“I didn’t mean to overstep,” Alex says, quieter now, hooking her hand in her jacket pocket to match Maggie’s slump, “I was just being friendly.” The last words are said with a shrug, and there is something almost mocking in her voice.

 

Maggie can hear the implication in her tone. Friendly. Because they are friends. The line that she herself set weeks ago. Maggie hardens her resolve, straightening as she fumbles for her car keys in her pocket. Friends, she reminds herself, that’s all she can let them be.

 

Alex follows her out of the bar and Maggie ignores how easily she had been ready to surrender.

 

**

 

Alex holds the remote just out of Kara’s grasp, appreciating that Kara humors her, straining to reach it without levitating even once. It annoys Alex to no end that Kara usually has a good two inches on her, superpowers or no, but with Alex still in heavy work boots and Kara barefooted, Alex just has the advantage.

 

“C’mon,” Kara whines, scrabbling at Alex’s extended arm, “Let me choose tonight.”

 

Alex clicks her tongue, batting at Kara’s hands.

 

“Who’s having the harder week?” she asks, making sure to adopt that tone of condescension Kara hates so well.

 

Kara drops to the soles of her feet, crossing her arms over her chest in a huff.

 

“Excuse you,” she says, lower lip pouting, “But I got kidnapped.”

 

Alex side-eyes her before dropping her arm with a sigh, chucking the remote in Kara’s direction with slightly more force than necessary.

 

“Fine,” she mumbles, “But I will remind you I’m in _crisis_.”

 

Kara snatches the remote out of the air with unnatural speed and an even more unnatural enthusiasm, looking seconds away from cheering.

 

“I know,” she says, bullying Alex toward the couch with her hips, “But that’s why I should choose.” Kara settles onto the plush of the couch, pulling Alex down on top of her. She notches her chin over Alex’s shoulder, hands scrabbling at Alex’s ribs until she relinquishes a smile. “I’ve been doing some research,” she says, “familiarizing myself with lesbian media for you.”

 

Alex pulls away with a short laugh, knocking at Kara’s shoulder with her own.

 

“Tell me you didn’t take notes.”

 

Kara casts a guilty glance at a yellow note-pad on top of the coffee table before leaning discreetly into Alex’s field of view.

 

“No,” she says slowly, drawing out the syllable, “of course not.” A nervous laugh. A pause. “I mean…define _notes_.”

 

“Oh my god,” Alex sighs, pinching at the bridge of her nose in faux-exasperation, “You are ridiculous.”

 

Kara just grins, leaning in closer, hooking a hand around Alex’s arm.

 

“I’m just trying to celebrate you, Alex,” her smile dims, “I know we don’t get to enough and I just—”

 

Alex cuts her off, raising a hand and relaxing into Kara’s hold.

 

“It’s okay, Kara,” Alex says, coaxing her sister with a smile, “I know.” She waits a beat, watching Kara out of the corner of her eye, holding out against the pleading jut of her lower lip for as long as she can. “Okay!” she says, throwing up her hands, “Fine! Educate me then.”

 

**

 

They are only 25 minutes into the pilot of _The L Word_ when Alex has to ask Kara to pause it.

 

There is a beat of silence, Kara staring at the screen with something close to apprehension and Alex in horror, before Alex speaks.

 

“I’m sorry, but what the fuck?”

 

Kara laughs, a hand over her mouth, smile crinkling at the corner of her eyes as she watches Alex’s face.

 

“You sure are entering an interesting world, Alex.” She laughs again. “Good luck.”

 

Alex is still staring at the screen, more perplexed than anything now, a furrow forming in her brow.

 

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispers, and Kara’s face immediately drops.

 

“Oh, Alex,” she says, reaching out a comforting hand, “I was just joking. This isn’t what being a lesbian is like,” she side-eyes the TV where Jenny Schecter is immortalized on the screen, Marina husking in her ear. “At least I don’t think so.”

 

Alex laughs, genuine and full for the first time all night, battering at Kara with a stray throw pillow.

 

“I didn’t mean being gay, Kara,” she says, still laughing, “I meant I don’t know if I can make it through six seasons of this show.”

 

Kara looks back at the TV, thoughtful. “Do you think watching _The L Word_ is a prerequisite for being a lesbian?”

 

Alex is saved from answering by the sound of sirens filtering through Kara’s windows, the floor to ceiling glass frames propped open despite the chilly bite of the autumn night air. Kara immediately sits up straighter, adopting her trademark superhero pose, shoulders back and chin tilted up, her picture-perfect profile focused toward the danger.

 

Alex sighs, falling back into the cushions, long since accustomed to her and Kara’s nightly interruptions. She raises a lazy hand, toeing off her work boots, watching as Kara slips the glasses off of her face, pulling her hair free of its messy bun.

 

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” Alex says, but she’s already speaking to an empty apartment, the windows left hinging wide open, that tell-tale red cape already a blur on the city’s horizon.

 

Alex glances back at the window and then quickly at the door. Once she is certain she is alone, she snags the remote off the cushion next to her, hitting play.

 

Might as well. It is her education, anyway.

 

**

 

Kara Danvers is weightless.

 

Though she flies only just above the crest of National City’s highest skyscrapers, she may as well be among the stars. Nothing else makes her feel this way, untethered, completely and utterly free. She angles her face into the wind, allowing the sound of sirens to drop away for the briefest lull, letting the galaxy-lit night settle to a soft calm in the hollow of her chest.

 

Sometimes in these moments, if she closes her eyes, thoughts tempered by the steady rush of the wind, by the tranquility of these autumn twilights, she can imagine she is back on Krypton, held steady and warm and safe in the comfort of her mother’s arms.

 

The steady flash of blue and red throbs against her eyelids, and Kara shakes herself free from her reverie, directing her attention at the police chase that careens through the city’s west side. She casts one last glance at the stars before arcing toward the chase. 

 

**

 

In a small apartment at the corner of Broad and Laurel, a little girl sits up in bed. Lights flash urgently outside her window, and sirens split the air. She slips out from between her sheets, ghost-quiet despite the cacophony outside, padding to the window and pressing a small palm to the glass.

 

She can hear the squeal of tires, rubber skidding against rain slick asphalt, and she watches with wide eyes as the cars spin out, their back ends fish-tailing, tires jolting over curbs. It isn’t until she looks away, casting a fearful glance down the street, that she sees her.

 

Even cloaked by the heavy shroud of nightfall, the streak is unmistakably crimson and blue, one fist stretched out before her in that signature pose.

 

The girl gasps quietly, pressing forward, face plastered against the glass, nose and cheeks smooshed by the cold window pane. The streak slows, ever-slightly, adjusting toward the high-speed chase that is whipping down Broad. 

 

As she passes the bedroom window, Supergirl pauses just long enough to flash the little girl a grin.

 

**

 

Maggie crosses her arms over her chest, leaning against the side of her cruiser and staring, semi-incredulous, at the woman flying toward her.

 

“Hi!” Supergirl calls, landing carefully on the asphalt. She gestures with her right hand, holding an unconscious man by the scruff of his neck, “I got him.”

 

Maggie raises an eyebrow, pushing off of the door of her cruiser and reaching for the handcuffs attached to her belt.

 

“I can see that,” she says.

 

Supergirl smiles, but it’s terse, polite, a world away from the friendly grin she directed at the officers that crowd behind her.  She drops the man at Maggie’s feet, brushing her palms together before settling her hands on her hips.

 

“So,” Supergirl says, nodding slowly, mouth set in a serious line, “Detective Sawyer.”

 

Maggie tilts her head, confused at the formality, resting her hands on her hips to match Supergirl’s pose.

 

“That would be me.”

 

There is another heavy beat of silence, both of them standing, nodding slightly, officers milling around in the background. Maggie narrows her eyes, unsure why the city’s beloved superhero is looking at her like she kicked a puppy. The silence is broken by the man at their feet rolling over with a groan and Maggie immediately kneels, cuffing his hands behind his back and reeling off his rights while Supergirl watches.

 

When she stands Supergirl is still regarding her, arms crossed now. Maggie can’t help but notice the muscles that rope through the woman’s forearms, the strong set of her shoulders and ripple of muscles in her jaw.

 

“Can I help you?” Maggie finally asks, “Is everything okay?” She studies the purse of Supergirl’s mouth, the tension that settles across her shoulders, and feels a brief flash of panic. “Is Agent Danvers alright?”

 

Supergirl’s brow furrows and she takes a small step forward, tightening her arms across the insignia on her chest.

 

“Of course,” she says, voice brusque, almost rude, “Why wouldn’t she be?”

 

Maggie shakes her head, utterly confused now. “I don’t know, you just look upset.  And I know you two are close,” she trails off.

 

Supergirl looks off in the distance, squinting at the city’s horizon, hands squared on her hips, and Maggie vaguely wonders if she’s posing.

 

“Alex is fine,” Supergirl says finally, and Maggie tries to ignore the “no thanks to you” that seems to be going unspoken.

 

“Okay,” Maggie says, annoyed at Supergirl for making her feel guilty about _something_ at her own crime scene, “Well, if that’s all…”

 

Supergirl levels a stare at her, and for the first time Maggie understands the fear that criminals must feel when they come face to face with National City’s caped crusader.

 

“Yes,” says Supergirl, eyes flashing blue, her tone cutting cold even through the hard exterior that Maggie guards so well, “That _will_ be all.”

 

She takes off with a crack, shooting up into the night sky, leaving a small crater of broken asphalt in her wake.

 

Maggie watches her go, squinting up at the star-speckled sky long after Supergirl disappears.

 

**

 

Kara is in turmoil.

 

She knows she should go home, wake up Alex where she most likely fell asleep on the couch, order a pizza, and maybe finish marathoning _The L Word._

 

(She knows Alex liked it, she _so_ saw how closely she was watching that Jenny and Marina bathroom scene.)

 

(She also knows Alex will never admit to enjoying it. Baby steps.)

 

But Kara also knows that Alex is hurting.  She’s hurting because of this Detective Maggie Sawyer character, all beautiful and elusive, with dimples cute enough to outdo even Kara’s best pout. No one with a smile that charming can possibly be trusted, Kara decides. 

 

Alex needs help. And for once, Kara doesn’t think punching or heat vision is going to be the solution. Somehow Kara doubts Winn or James will be much help in this area, either.  Winn nearly goes into cardiac arrest every time Alex looks at him, and James is so well intentioned he’ll probably lead Alex into even deeper heartbreak.

 

Kara needs a fresh perspective. She needs—

 

Kara is hovering outside Lena’s L-Corp balcony before she even realizes where she’s going. She lands lightly on the railing, poised on her tip-toes, squinting into the office where she can just make out Lena Luthor’s silhouette. She’s so beautiful in profile.

 

(She’s beautiful always, but—)

 

Kara leans slightly forward, watching as Lena bends over her desk, tendrils of hair framing the harsh slant of her cheekbones, brow furrowed as she studies a spread of documents that fan across her desk. Kara raises a hand to her cheek, subconsciously going to fiddle with glasses she isn’t even wearing, narrowing her eyes. There’s something so faintly Grecian about Lena’s profile, goddess-like even. With those eyes and that chin and those lips—

 

Kara tips forward off the balcony, dropping two feet through the air before she remembers she can fly, catching herself in a hover a mere breadth before she would have come crashing down on the balcony floor.

 

She feels her cheeks and ears flare red and quickly flies up a story, settling on the cement lip of the roof, red boots dangling above the sharp drop, the pavement hundreds of feet below. She buries her face in her hands with a groan. It’s just guilt, she tells herself, just guilt and admiration and an intense need to get the name of Lena’s hair stylist or face stylist or something because they _really_ know what they’re doing.

 

Kara exhales, dropping her hands to her lap and tipping her face to the sky, trying again to find that hushed nighttime calm. But she can’t quite seem to settle, hands a flurry, stomach pitching and roiling. Kara knows she needs to tell Lena about Cadmus. She _knows_ , knows with a deep, tangible guilt that tugs relentlessly at her conscience.

 

But, at the same time, Kara can’t bear to shatter Lena’s world. Kara knows better than anyone what it feels like to have everything come crashing down around you, to have your faith in your parents and life and entire upbringing all forced into doubt.

 

Kara knows she needs to tell her. But not tonight.

 

**

 

Three minutes later Kara is knocking on the tall modern doors of Lena’s office.  She’s back in polka-dots, a high collared dress that dips just below the hard angle of her collarbone, pink cardigan shrugged on over her shoulders.

 

She would have made it back here in two minutes if she hadn’t felt a weird unexplainable pressure to spend an extra twenty seconds changing outfits. Kara chalks it up to nerves, she is depending on Lena to help Alex, and no one matters to Kara more than her sister.

 

Lena swivels in her chair when Kara enters, her brow smoothing as soon as she sees her, lips curling into a smile that continues to grow when Kara ducks her head and gives a shy wave. Lena leans back in her chair, toying with a pen in long, elegant fingers, still smiling as she watches Kara approach.

 

“Kara,” Lena says, “I was hoping you’d show up.”

 

“Oh,” Kara says, voice pitched just a note too high, “Were you?”

 

Lena laughs, gesturing for Kara to sit across from her before steepling her fingers on her desk.

 

“Of course,” she says, “I do enjoy your company.”

 

“Oh, good,” Kara says quietly, glad to have her glasses back on to fumble with, “That’s really good.” There is a beat of silence before she remembers to add, “Me too.”

 

Lena smiles, blinking slow, and Kara finds herself fascinated by the bright, intelligent gray of Lena’s eyes. Kara tugs at her collar absently, trying to think of the best way to introduce Alex’s dilemma. Lena leans forward slightly, putting out her hand to still Kara’s fidgeting fingers.

 

“You seem nervous,” she says, her hand still resting on Kara’s, “Is everything okay?”

 

Kara smiles, lightly squeezing Lena’s hand, laughing in a way that she hopes makes her seem at ease.

 

“I’m sorry,” Kara says, shaking her head, “I guess I’m just looking for some advice.”

 

Lena grins broadly, lips pulling back over sharp canines. There is something almost predatory in the cutting glint of her teeth, and Kara shivers despite herself.  Lena leans further across the desk—a terrible move, now Kara can smell her perfume—and fits her hand more comfortably in Kara’s grip.

 

“Well, I’m here to help.”

 

“Okay,” Kara says, exhaling slowly, “So I have this friend—”

 

“Oh?” says Lena, interest piqued now, “Another friend?”

Kara laughs nervously, retracting her hand, suddenly glad Kryptonians rarely sweat.  “A real friend I promise, it’s not like—”

 

Lena cuts her off, fluttering her fingers, “Continue, please.”

 

“Okay so,” Kara re-starts, pinning her hands beneath her thighs, “I have this friend who has feelings for—someone.”

 

Lena bites at her lower lip absently, nodding along to Kara’s words as her fingers comb unconsciously through her dark sheen of hair. When Lena releases her lip from her teeth, it is flushed red, the perfect cupid bow of her top lip still primrose pink.

 

(Kara wonders if throwing herself off this office balcony would be too dramatic.)

 

(She can’t imagine that it would get an outstandingly positive response, but anything would be better than the molten burning in her chest.)

 

(Kara was under the impression that she could handle lava with little ill effect, but Lena Luthor seems dedicated to proving her wrong.)

 

“Feelings for someone?” Lena says, her usually bright voice pitched an octave low, “a man or woman?”

 

“A woman?” Kara says, her tone tips her answer into a question, “But I don’t really think that’s relevant…”

 

Lena stands, running a finger along the edge of her desk before she takes a few slow strides across the room, her back to Kara. Kara watches her, turning in her chair, admiring the sharp cut of muscle in Lena’s calves, the grace of her movements despite the precarious hold of three-inch heels.

 

“And your friend,” Lena says, still facing away from her, “have they told this woman about their feelings?”

 

“She,” Kara stumbles, “I mean _they_ tried, but they don’t think the person feels the same way.”

 

Lena turns now, regarding Kara with something close to intrigue, the tilt of her head conveying an interest Kara can’t quite place. “So what’s your question, Kara?”

 

Kara stands now too, shrugging as she ambles toward Lena, trying to get a better read on her expression. “What should they do? I mean, how do they find out of the other person likes them back?” Lena’s gaze has dropped now somewhere below Kara’s eyes, and Kara presses forward. “And if they don’t like them, how do they get over them?”

 

Lena shakes her head, exhaling shakily, “I don’t think them not liking them will be a problem.”

 

Kara looks at her, bemused, pinching her eyebrows together, “But like, if it is?”

 

Lena casts her eyes to the ceiling, “Well you know what they say,” she reaches out a hand, brushing Kara’s arm, “The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else,” she laughs, “Not to be crude.” She takes a step forward, “But like I said,” her fingers curl around Kara’s arm now, “I don’t think it will be a problem.”

 

Kara’s eyes drop to the hand around her arm, and then back to Lena. She takes in the woman before her, her dilated pupils, iris just a sliver of gray, the red flush staining the pale skin of her chest.

 

“Oh,” Kara says, then again, “Oh,” drawing out the word this time, “Oh golly.”

 

Lena pulls back, “What?”

 

Kara stumbles a step back, her flats catching in the plush carpet, “Nothing!” she says, voice pitched too loud, “Nothing, you have honestly been a ton of help.” She takes another step back, checking her wrist, “Look at the time, I really have to be going!”

 

“Oh,” says Lena, she looks dejected, maybe even a little affronted, but she hides it well, folding her arms across her stomach, “of course. You can ask Nicole at the front desk to validate your parking if you would like.”

 

Kara pauses then, looking at Lena, the slight downturn of her lips and guarded expression enough to tug hard at the pit of her stomach. Kara ventures a step forward.

 

“Hey, I’m glad I came to talk to you.”

 

“You are?” Lena says, expression hopeful, eyes wide.

 

“Yeah,” Kara says, smiling, “I really am.”

 

Kara reminds herself that she fights aliens and other deadly creatures for a living, that she has faced down otherworldly beasts and vicious monsters incomprehensible to most of mankind. She is Kara Zor-El, the last daughter of Krypton. Evildoers tremble before her.

 

 Despite this, it still takes all of Kara’s strength to step forward and press a kiss against the apple of Lena’s cheek.

 

She lingers there, lips pursed against the warmth of Lena’s skin, nose brushing her temple. She can smell Lena’s perfume, the rich flowery tones an insignificance in comparison to Lena’s heartbeat.  Kara can hear the steady cadence accelerate, Lena’s pulse sky-rocketing to a hummingbird flutter.

 

When Kara pulls away, a pink flush has crept high in Lena’s cheeks, her lips parted, breath stuttering out fast.

 

“Okay,” Kara says quietly, “Maybe I’ll see you soon?”

 

She doesn’t stay long enough to hear Lena’s answer and it isn’t until she has burst back out into the open night air, chest heaving and ears burning, that she realizes how it had felt to kiss Lena.

 

Weightless.

 

**

 

 It’s 10:36 p.m. when Alex gets a text from Kara, the vibration jerking her awake from her slumped position on the couch. She clicks on her phone, yawning as she thumbs in her password.  She pulls up her messages and blinks hard, rubbing at her eyes before reading the text again.

 

**best sista eva (karaaaaaaaa <3 <3): we have to get you laid **

******

Alex reaches behind her, scrambling to gain purchase on the slippery faux-marble sink in the bar’s single-stall bathroom. The girl in front of her huffs a laugh against Alex’s neck, gripping tighter to Alex’s thighs, fingers digging half-moon marks into her skin.

 

“Y’know,” she says, pausing to bite down over Alex’s pulse point, lapping rough against her neck when she cries out, “This might be a lot easier somewhere else.”

 

Alex jars back, one hand steadying herself on the woman’s shoulder, the other brushing a dark slant of hair out of her eyes. The woman—Brittany, Alex reminds herself, remembering those early night introductions, exchanged before she found herself three drinks in, the world dissolving blurry around her—is looking at her earnestly, head cocked slightly to the side.

 

Something in the motion reminds Alex of Maggie, and she works hard to choke those thoughts down, pressing a palm hard against her eyes until she sees lights burst behind her eye-lids.

 

“I—” Alex pauses here, too long, and Brittany gets concerned, pulling away, lowering Alex slowly back to the floor.

 

“We don’t have to,” she says, fingers hooking in the collar of Alex’s dress, “I just thought that maybe if you wanted to—”

 

“I do,” Alex says, trying to settle her heartbeat, wondering how the DEO can possibly trust her in a crisis when a girl’s fingers stroking over her collarbone is enough to send her reeling. “I do, really.”

 

Brittany smiles, tossing long blonde hair over one shoulder, her hand sliding down Alex’s chest to settle on her hip.

 

“Is my place okay?”

 

**

 

Alex sits up in her elbows, watching Brittany settle between her legs, fingers splayed wide on Alex’s thighs, knees digging hard into the rough carpet. Brittany presses a kiss against the inside of Alex’s knee, then lower, near the juncture of her thighs. Alex sucks in a sharp breath, resisting the urge to squirm away. Brittany sits back on her heels, ducking her head to meet Alex’s eyes.

 

“We don’t have to,” she says quietly, “I’m getting the feeling this is your first ti—”

 

Alex cuts her off quickly, shaking her head, almost frantic.

 

“No, no, I want to, I want to.” Some part of her is protesting, this screaming panic spiking in her chest, but another part, something lower, something hungry, is throbbing at the sight of Brittany’s hands, drifting higher on her thighs.

 

“Okay,” Brittany says slowly, hooking her fingers in the band of Alex’s underwear, moving her thumbs in slow circles over the soft skin she finds there, “Okay.”

 

And then Brittany’s dragging them down, ever-slow, eyes dropping, glazed and eager, to look at her. Alex panics again when the underwear gets caught at the crux of her knees, feeling naked and shy and this crippling sort of vulnerable, like a patient stripped bare on an operating table.  But Brittany laughs low, pressing an open bite at the inside of Alex’s thighs, and Alex’s head falls back, hands clutching at the sheets.

 

“Okay,” Alex says, her voice a wet gasp, “Okay.”

 

Brittany leans in, lapping soft at Alex’s center, hands tightening on her thighs. She pulls back, just barely, mouth wet and eyes blown wide, “Is this alright?”

 

Alex manages a frantic nod before Brittany is leaning in again.

 

**

 

Alex slaps a five dollar bill down on the bar, striding away with two beers in hand, smiling when she sees Maggie sitting at their high-top table, smirking.

 

“So,” Maggie says, snagging her beer from Alex, leaning forward across the table and cupping her chin in her palm, “fun night?”

 

Alex, bottle tilted to her lips, chokes on a mouthful of beer, coughing into her fist while Maggie gives her a few unhelpful pats on the back.

 

“What?” Alex finally gets out, still sputtering.

 

Maggie raises an eyebrow, reaching out with a finger and brushing it across a dark bruise marring Alex’s pale neck, “I see you finally got out of the house.”

 

Alex flushes, bringing her beer back to her mouth, glaring at Maggie over the rim. She swallows hard, trying to play it off with a shrug.

 

“I mean, I guess,” she hesitates before leaning forward, overshooting, ending up a little too close to Maggie’s face, noses almost brushing. Maggie doesn’t pull away so Alex doesn’t either.  “I slept with someone,” she pauses, “A woman.”  

 

For a beat, Maggie says nothing. The corners of her lips turn down, eyes dropping to the tabletop, and Alex can’t tell if she is imagining the disappointment that colors Maggie’s voice when she finally speaks. She must be, Alex thinks, Maggie has made it clear that—

 

“That’s great, Danvers,” Maggie says, pulling away, drawing hard at her beer, “that’s really great.” Then that smile is back, eyebrows lifting and dimples prominent, “How was it?”

 

Alex pulls her mouth to one side, thoughtful, fingers picking at the label of her beer. It had been nice, not amazing, but nice. That sparking attraction had been there, the ache and roil that Alex had never even known was possible in sex. Brittany was patient, kind even, and Alex feels a pull in her stomach when she remembers Brittany licking long strokes between Alex’s legs, the slick open kiss over her clit that had sent Alex’s hips jolting off of the bed.

 

“It was wet.”

 

“Wet?” Maggie says, laughing, “God, she sounds amazing.”

 

Alex feels heat burn in her cheeks, not having quite meant to voice her observation, “I just mean—“

 

Maggie reaches out, almost touching Alex’s hand, pulling back before her fingers can brush Alex’s palm. She laughs again, this time almost forced, like she’s pushing the sound from her lower throat.

 

“No, I get it,” she pauses, “It sounds nice, I hope you got her number.” Maggie nods once, abrupt and decisive, before bringing her drink to her mouth, tipping it back as she drains the bottle. Alex absently watches the column of her throat, the flush of her dark skin, the perfect line of her neck.

 

When she finishes, Maggie slams the empty bottle to the table with a hollow glass thud, jaw clenching, muscles rippling below the high arch of her cheek.

 

“Alright,” she says, moving to get up, “It was good to see you.”

 

“What?” Alex says, confused now, making a grab for Maggie’s elbow, “Where are you going?”

 

Maggie wrenches her arm away, the terse movement juxtaposed against the smile she seems determined to keep on her face.

 

“I’m going home.”

 

Alex stands now too, lowering her voice, desperate not to make a scene despite the panic that bites high in her chest. She feels it rise into her throat and for a second she worries she will drown.

 

“You’re leaving?” Alex says, something close to desperation cracking through the chasm of her chest, “you can’t leave.”

 

Maggie pulls her jacket off of the high back of her chair, tugging it on over her shirt.

 

“It doesn’t seem fair that you’re always the one walking away, now does it,” Maggie says, not even trying to hide the anger in her voice.

 

“What?” Alex says, all vitriol and indignation, squaring her shoulders and taking a step forward, hating the way her heart jumps when Maggie doesn’t move away, instead standing her ground, tilting her head to meet Alex’s furious gaze. “I walk away because you keep rejecting me.”

 

“I told you that I care about you,” Maggie hisses, “What more do you want from me?”

 

Alex throws up her hands, “Maybe stop sending me all these mixed messages, for a start.” She narrows her eyes, jabbing a finger at Maggie’s chest, “Either you want me or you don’t, stop acting like you can play this middle ground.”

 

Maggie’s teeth are bared now, glinting white between snarling lips, and Alex gets caught on the bright flare of Maggie’s eyes despite herself. Maggie reaches out, gripping Alex’s wrist in her hand, tugging her hard toward the exit.

 

“Where are we going?” Alex asks, letting herself be dragged, “This conversation isn’t over.”

 

Maggie pushes through the door, spilling them out into the alley, breath steaming from her mouth in harsh puffs of white, winter settling bitter in both of their chests. Maggie pulls Alex into the alleyway wedged between the bar and the neighboring building, pushing her back against the shadow-shrouded brick.

 

Maggie presses close to her, hands twisting in the lapels of Alex’s jacket, pushing in until they are chest to chest and nose to nose, until Alex can feel Maggie’s breath shuddering fast against her.

 

Everything slows then, urgency ebbing as they ease into each other.  Alex cups Maggie’s face in her hands, thumbs stroking soft across her cheekbones.

 

“You’re so beautiful,” Alex whispers, shaking her head slightly, “I didn’t know anyone could make me feel the way you do.”

 

“This is a terrible idea,” Maggie chokes out, nodding in closer all the while, her mouth so close that every syllable is a palpable pressure against Alex’s lips, “This is going to end so badly.”

 

Alex shrugs, “Then let it.”

 

This time, Maggie kisses her first. She surges onto her tip-toes, tugging Alex down by her jacket. Alex’s mouth hinges in an open gasp of surprise as Maggie laps into it, tongue greedy as she groans against her mouth.

 

Maggie’s hands slip inside Alex’s jacket now, scratching a long, angry stripe down the plane of Alex’s back, fingernails digging desperately into the sharp jut of her shoulder blades. Alex whines, pushing back, tongue pressing against Maggie’s own, the warm, wet slick of it enough to send a sparking rush of heat between her legs.

 

The kiss is sloppy, the slide of their lips overly-desperate and rough, and when Maggie pushes Alex’s hips hard against the grating brick of the alleyway, she lets out a quiet huff of pain.  Maggie slows, soothing her with a hand on her waist.

 

Alex tilts her head, inhaling sharply through her nose as Maggie bites down on her lip, hand slipping under the back of her shirt, fingers splaying warm against the skin of her lower back. Alex winds one hand in Maggie’s hair, guiding her closer until their noses and chins are aligned, foreheads knocking clumsy. The other hand scrabbles at the buckle of Maggie’s belt, suddenly desperate to be closer, sure she won’t be satiated until she can feel the warm cling of Maggie against her fingers.

 

Maggie lets her, pushing in harder, one thigh angled between Alex’s legs, tugging her until she grinds down with a hiss.  She breaks the kiss to suck hard at Alex’s pulse-point, eclipsing the bruise left there the night before.

 

Alex finally manages to undo Maggie’s belt, hand slipping inside her pants, hesitating briefly before stroking soft over the damp fabric of Maggie’s underwear. Maggie whines, canting her hips.

 

“Fuck, Alex,” she whimpers, burying her face harder in Alex’s neck, “fuck.”

 

Alex strokes harder, aware that she is clumsy and over-eager, but encouraged by the kiss she feels Maggie press against the crux of her neck. She moves to go further, to slip inside of Maggie’s underwear and satiate the wet, hot desire that clings like a tangible thing to every beat of her heart.

 

A part of Alex is sure this is the only way she can have her, shivering and messy and graceless in the back alley behind Maggie’s favorite bar.

 

A part of Alex doesn’t think Maggie wants her any other way. This can be all, she tells herself, taking a long shuddery breath, this can be enough.

 

But before she can go further, Alex feels fingers curl around her wrist.

 

“Wait,” Maggie says, she pulls Alex’s hand out of her pants, groaning slightly as she does, “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I don’t think we should do this.” She takes a step back, smoothing down her jacket before laughing, fumbling to button her pants.

 

“Did I do something wrong?” Alex asks, her voice sounds small and she feels that spark of humiliation, re-igniting in her chest.

 

Maggie’s eyes go wide and she presses back in, a hand moving to cup Alex’s cheek, shaking her head quickly.

 

“God no, that was—” Maggie closes her eyes, taking a breath, “That was amazing.”

 

Alex pulls away, shrugging Maggie off of her, feeling the familiar burn behind her eyes.

 

“But you don’t like me that way,” Alex finishes, “I get it.”

 

“Alex,” Maggie says, smiling now, those dimples back, a dark flush high in her cheeks, “For such an amazing agent you can be a real idiot.” She leans in, brushing a kiss lightly over Alex’s lips, “I’ll see you around, Danvers.”

 

Alex watches her go, feeling something unfamiliar settle deep in her chest, just below her collarbone. It’s hope, she realizes later, poignant and unfamiliar and all hers.

 

For the first time in her life, Alex Danvers lets herself be selfish.

 

**

 

It’s 6 p.m. and Alex hasn’t left the DEO all day.  A rogue alien attack at an esteemed gallery uptown wasn’t much of a hassle to subdue, but it’s this paperwork that’s the real bitch.

 

Kara leans against her desk, watching Alex fill out forms while she plows her way through two quarts of chicken lo-mein.

 

“Could you please watch it,” Alex says, shooing Kara’s chopsticks away from her, “I don’t need any more soy sauce on my confidential government paperwork.”

 

Kara pouts, “That was literally one time.”

 

Alex would roll her eyes, but she is refusing to look away from the form until it is done, one more and she can finally go home. She promised Kara that they could continue their foray into lesbian media.

 

“It’s about your education,” Kara had told her earlier, trying to explain her own over-enthusiasm, “I’m just trying to be a good ally!”

 

“Jesus fuck,” Alex says, throwing down her pen and glaring at her paperwork, “Who knew aliens held modern art in such high contempt.”

 

Her phone rings before Kara can begin to chastise her for the generalization, and Alex answers it quickly, eager to escape the lecture.

 

“Danvers,” she says, holding the phone to her ear and ignoring Kara who has managed to stuff roughly half the noodles into her mouth in one go.

 

“Hey, it’s Sawyer,” comes the voice on the other end, and Alex straightens, heart lurching in her chest.

 

“Oh,” Alex says, trying for some kind of nonchalance, “What’s up?”

 

She can practically hear Maggie’s smile through the line. “I just wanted to know if you were down for pool, maybe tomorrow night?”

 

Alex swivels her chair, facing the wall so Kara can’t see her answering smile. “We’ll see,” Alex says, “I’ll try to make it.” She hangs up without waiting for a response.

 

**

 

On the other side of the city, Maggie Sawyer looks down at her phone and grins.

 

They both know Alex will be there, but for now neither of them say anything.

 

They’ll let it stay a mystery for just a little while longer.

**Author's Note:**

> as always you can find me at nevervalentines.tumblr.com


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